Trust the System
by CharWright5
Summary: (Marvel Crossover Fic) For as long as he could remember, all Kendall wanted was to be a SHIELD agent like his parents, a job he feels he'd excel at given his spider-like powers. But the mission that will finally get him everything he's dreamed of will bring him closer to a literal hot-headed superhero who just might make him reconsider what it is he truly wants...
1. Assignment

_**A/N: **__Um... Sorry, Stan Lee. I feel that should be said... Mash-up crossover combining Big Time Rush with "Agents of SHIELD" (with hints of the "Avengers" in it 'cause you can't have "AoS" without it), "The Fantastic Four", and "Spider-Man" (to a degree). "AoS", "Avengers" "TFF", and "Spider-Man" are all property of Marvel, Stan Lee, and ABC/Disney/Whatever. "BTR" property of Nickelodeon (maybe, pretty sure it might be for now...) and Scott Fellows. I just have a crazy ass mind that decided to smoosh it all together and create this messterpiece. This fic leans more towards MCU, since my Comic!Verse knowledge is incredibly limited, and takes place during the first "Fantastic Four" flick, with some changes due to my own artistic license and need to actually make this work. Title from an episode of "Agents of SHIELD" called "The Hub"._

* * *

It wasn't how Kendall pictured Agent Hill's office to look.

Not that he ever really imagined how her office would appear. Or that she'd even have an office to begin with. Kinda weird that she had one. He couldn't really picture her sitting behind a desk, typing on a computer, filing paperwork, regular office shit like that. No, when he thought of Agent Maria Hill he always thought of what an excellent shot she was, her skills in combat, the way she'd bark orders at men twice her size—superheroes included—and they'd follow them without question. Hill carried herself with the kind of authority that matched people far older than her and had a toughness that was usually found in someone much larger than her lean frame, making her a great ally out in the field or by Director Fury's side as they traveled between one mission and the next in the helicarrier.

So why she had an _office_ was something Kendall was confused about.

Yet there he was, sitting in it, waiting for her to show up.

It wasn't how he expected his day to go. All he'd really planned on was saying goodbye to his dad as the elder male left on a mission of his own. But when the SHIELD SUV showed up to take him to the local HQ, the driver insisted Kendall come along and no, he didn't have time to change, he just had to come as he was. His dad had just given him a shrug and a pat on the shoulder, not seeming to know what was going on either. Without any words, the two of them had climbed in the back of the black Explorer and were driven to their destination.

Where, half an hour later, Kendall still had no clue why he'd been brought there or told to wait in Hill's office.

Unless... they knew.

No, no way. He'd made sure to leave no traceable evidence when he'd hacked into the SHIELD mainframe and rooted around their files for the info he wanted. Even the best cyber-security officers they could employ wouldn't be able to notice anything that would make them believe someone had been in there, nor would it lead them back to him and his laptop.

But still. Was worth worrying over.

Kendall squirmed in his seat, tugging at his torn jeans, pulling at his flannel shirt. His green eyes peered out the glass wall to his left, taking in the bustle of activity, agents walking to and fro down the hall, exchanging information, heading on their way to...well, wherever they were going. All were busy, all were important.

All were in suits.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he turned and faced the front again, eyes locked onto the long table before him. He'd been to SHIELD countless times with his parents, had even been found and rescued by them before he was adopted by two agents. So being in the building itself wasn't anything new or outta the ordinary—although actually being requested to show up was. But still, he felt a small ache in the middle of his chest, knowing that no matter how many times he showed up there, he didn't belong.

Because he wasn't an agent.

Hell, he was barely even human.

His thumb subconsciously started rubbing the inside of his wrist, feeling the pock-mark that was below each hand. A mark that allowed web to go shooting out.

Maybe not technically a _web_ per say, but a web-like substance, stronger, thicker than anything a regular spider could create. Was part of the arachnid package he inhabited, along with the ability to climb walls and literally hang out on the ceiling. Made scaring his parents easier on April Fool's. And the web-thing was fun to use in order to swing around the city like Tarzan going from vine to vine.

Assuming he was even allowed out the house that day.

But no matter what, he could admit his abilities were pretty cool. And combined with the underlying strength and the heightened senses he possessed, it made being a "Non-Human Entity" and "Registered Superhuman" bearable.

It also meant he'd be one kickass SHIELD agent and a true asset to the company. It was just too bad no one else seemed to agree with him.

He was sure it wasn't any sorta slight against him or what he was. SHIELD obviously had no problems working with anyone with superpowers of any description. Captain America was one of their biggest and most important members. Bruce Banner—and his more temperamental alter-ego The Hulk—was a SHIELD consultant. Hell, they even used the help of a demi-god from time to time. Plus there was The Index of Superhumans, those with special powers they kept a close eye on and sometimes even brought in for assistance. So, no, his powers weren't an issue.

And it wasn't that he didn't have any training. Having SHIELD members for parents meant he was raised not only learning the basic reading, writing, and arithmetic, but also hand-to-hand combat, weapons and technology, how to drive a car, plane, helicopter, or any other vehicle necessary during a mission. He could shoot the wings off a fly at a hundred yards and snap a guy's neck in three different places. Plus he had a strange underlying strength due to whatever had been done to him as a kid that allowed him to participate in any physical activity or heavy lifting and not get tired or worn down. So not knowing how to fight and take care of himself wasn't why he had yet to become an agent.

Kendall lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, fingers grazing the visitor's pass clipped to his shirt, one that allowed him limited access throughout the building and prevented him from going to certain areas or hallways. Visitor. He'd lived here for a week or so after he'd been rescued and now he was a fucking _visitor_. Given who he was and who his parents were, he figured he'd be allowed a little more leeway at that point in his life. Showed how much trust they had in him.

Which was one of the reasons why he figured he wasn't an agent yet.

His parents themselves were another one.

The door to his left opened, his head turning around to view who was entering the room. Agent Hill. He should've known really.

Hill carried herself with the same quiet power she always did. Her dark blue jumpsuit hugged her body like a second skin, providing warmth, coverage, and flexibility should shit hit the fan at any moment. Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual bun at the nape of her neck, side-swept bangs framing steely blue eyes that could silence anyone with just one look.

Kendall's own green orbs watched as she strode around him, down the side of the table. The SHIELD eagle logo was on the wall behind her, a dark gray symbol of what it was she stood for, the company that made her who she was. To him, she'd always been one of the faces of the division—maybe not a public one, since that tended to be more of Captain America or Iron Man's role, but a face nonetheless.

A stern face, given her furrowed brow and pinched lips.

"Parker," she greeted him flatly as she reached the other end of the long table, dropping a file onto the oak furniture before seating herself opposite Kendall. She always referred to him by his surname—or at least the surname most everyone in the building knew him by. Who had adopted him was information known only by Level Nine agents, something she was. Yet she still called him "Parker"—his middle name in all actuality—although he wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that she was keeping the secret hidden or she just refused to acknowledge who his parents were.

He leaned more towards the latter, considering the "Parker" moniker was still used in private.

"Agent Hill," he replied with a terse head nod, sitting up straighter in his chair. He swallowed the lump of nerves that had coagulated in his throat when she'd entered the room, a combination of the intimidating presence she always exuded and the anxiety caused by the worry that he'd been busted reading secure SHIELD files only accessible to agents in high levels. Which was pretty fucked up, considering the files he'd checked out were about himself. So really, he had every right to read them, secured or not, permission or not.

But as much as he convinced himself his reasoning was sound and acceptable, he still couldn't help but feel like he was about to be dropped in some serious shit.

Hill sat up straight, slim, strong hands folded on the table, narrowed eyes regarding him. She didn't speak a word, just stared, analyzing him. Kendall fought to remain still under her intense scrutiny, fighting back memories of when SHIELD scientists had given him countless exams and performed seemingly endless tests when he was first brought in, all in an attempt to figure out exactly what he was, what had been done to him, whether he was harmless or a risk to everyone—including himself.

But he _was_ fine, _was_ safe, had proven so over a decade and a half later. Yet she continued staring him down as though trying to peer inside of him, find something she could use against him, a weakness of some form that would give her any sort of advantage, whether physical or mental.

He mentally scoffed at Hill being able to take him physically. Sure, he looked lanky as hell, was pretty much all limbs with a big nose, but he still possessed an extraordinary amount of strength, training sessions with the Captain himself proving he was no slouch in the gym. And combat sparring with Agent Romanov proved he had no issue taking on a female.

If Hill was given a gun however...

"You've heard of the Fantastic Four, right?" she interrupted his mental space trip, voice as hard as ever.

Kendall's head jerked back almost imperceptibly, but he knew she picked up on it. It was her job to catch any small tick, any little giveaway as to someone's thinking or feeling, even ones people had no idea they were doing. So his reaction to her suddenly speaking and jarring him back to reality so harshly didn't go unnoticed.

Didn't stop him from acting like he wasn't aware that she'd seen it though.

Instead, Kendall just frowned in puzzlement, wondering what the group of superheroes had to do with him.

"Yeah, I've heard of 'em," he answered plainly, green eyes focused on the stoic face at the other end of the table. "Buncha astronauts who got caught in some sorta radiation cloud while on the Von Doom space station, came back with different powers."

Hill's face gave nothing away as she nodded, confirming his info was correct. Which he pretty much knew it was. He remembered the buzz around SHIELD when it happened, all the questions about what exactly their powers were and what the individuals could do. He remembered all the news covering the incident on the Brooklyn Bridge where they'd stopped a firetruck from falling into the East River and an explosion from taking out the bridge itself. He remembered his parents discussing the new superhumans during breakfast, a debate about whether or not SHIELD should intervene and how it was a little too late for damage control considering they were on the morning news again. Yeah, the Fantastic Four were a big commodity, a well-known group that had caused quite a stir by being public pretty much from the get-go, unlike other heroes who were hidden for certain periods of time—if not always.

Kendall swallowed hard as he subconsciously rubbed the inside of his wrist again. Shoving everything out of his mind, he focused on the conversation at hand. "What's this gotta do with me?"

Okay, that question might've been a little self-centered and bratty, but it was still a valid inquiry. As far as he knew, he had zero connections to the Fantastic Four, therefore SHIELD would have no reason to bring him in and interrogate him about the super squad.

He mentally shuddered to think of how Hill would interrogate someone, the techniques she'd use.

Then again, better Hill than Romanov.

Hill's icy stare analyzed him for a long moment before she leaned forward over the table, back still ramrod straight. It was as close to relaxing as she ever really got. As far as he knew anyway.

"SHIELD has had its eye on them since they returned from space, especially after the Brooklyn Bridge Incident," she started, voice level, calm, informative. "But unfortunately for us, all attempts to reach out and talk with them have been met with silence or 'we're busy right now, we'll get back to you some other time'." Her jaw tightened, a sign of her aggravation, and she wagged her eyebrows in dismissal. "We need to debrief them, figure out what exactly their powers are, what they're capable of, and whether or not they're a threat to the public. Which is where you come in."

His confusion grew, an eyebrow arching on its own, lips twisting up in a puzzled sneer of sorts. "Me? But I'm not a debriefing guy."

"We don't want you to debrief them," she clarified, features still flat, just like her tone. "It's a little late for the 'keep your powers to yourself and maintain a low profile' speech, considering all that's happened."

He see-sawed his head, conceding her point.

"We need you to get information about them and their powers."

That had Kendall sitting up straighter in his seat, his heart lurching and beating at twice the speed as excitement fluttered in his chest. "Like a mission?"

She nodded, fingers gripping the gray folder she'd walked in the room with. "Well, not _like_ a mission. It _is_ one," she cleared up, causing him to inhale sharply and hold the air in his lungs, hope swelling inside him and making his skin tingle. "Fury specifically requested you do this, given your qualifications. You have certain assets needed for this assignment that no one else has."

Holy. Shit.

Kendall's heart was pounding out of control, his chest tight, stomach full of pterodactyls, since they were much too large to be butterflies. His skin tingled more as hope and excitement and disbelief all took over. This was it, he was finally being looked at as a valuable asset, an important person with skills necessary for an assignment. He wasn't being looked at like a freak, an experiment that was taken away from some mad scientist, something that didn't exist in nature nor would it ever. No one was treating him special or differently because of any powers or who his parents were. He was being praised because of them, wanted, _needed_ even. It was everything he'd ever dreamed of, late night fantasies of being an agent and fighting bad guys coming to life.

It was about fucking time, too.

Leaning forward, he looked Hill in the eye, unable to prevent the way his lips were turning up at the corners in an excited smile. "So, you need me to use my spider-like powers to break into their headquarters, get information, then sneak back out undetected?" he guessed, his words coming out in a frantic rush as the joy of an impending mission overwhelmed him. He felt like he was on a roller coaster as it reached its apex, the incredible rush of speeding through loops and turns causing his blood to pump more furiously and his adrenaline to amp up to high levels.

Maybe "excitement" wasn't strong enough of a word.

Not that he knew anything more fitting. He bet his dad would though.

He pushed aside thoughts of his old man as he concentrated once again on Hill, his leg bouncing under the table. He felt shaky all over, an indescribable feeling of being happy and important and like he was finally doing what he was meant to do. He couldn't contain any of his emotions, the feelings leaking out into trembling hands and wide eyes and a huge goofy grin. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning waking up to a room full of more toys than twinkling lights or snow outside. Which was to be expected when someone spends seventeen years working towards something and hoping it'd happen, then it finally does.

Holy. Shit.

"Not exactly," Hill's voice cut into his joy, causing his leg to pause and his smile to falter. "You won't be able to use your powers at all. In fact, they need to remain hidden at all times."

Kendall felt his roller coaster crash and his toys being snatched away before he could open them. It was a mistake, right? There was no way SHIELD would use him for a mission and _not_ let him take advantage of special skills and traits given to him.

Right?

Hill slid the folder down to his end of the table, Kendall slapping a hand on top of it before it hit his torso, reflexes still fast despite the freeze taking over the rest of him.

"The Fantastic Four recently put an ad out there requesting a personal assistant," the SHIELD agent began, voice still that same informative tone, only with more authority. The blond male wondered if she'd practiced this speech beforehand. "Seems they're having trouble running things at the Baxter Building _and_ doing their research at the same time."

Kendall nodded dumbly, body stiff as he spun the folder around and opened it up. On the left side was the ad Hill was describing, a job description typed up by Camille Storm herself. He read it through, not absorbing any of it. He felt numb all the way through, all the excitement and joy and hope from before all dashed away by the knowledge that he couldn't do what he'd assumed he was being asked to.

"We need you to go undercover and work for them, get all the info you can that way."

He frowned in confusion, wondering why the masquerade was necessary. "Wouldn't it just be easier for me to sneak in and hack their system, get any info that way?"

A muscle in her jaw twitched again, a small tick that gave away her annoyance at his questioning, at his refusal to just go along with her orders. "We don't know if their information is even logged in electronically. For all we know, it could be scribbled in some notebook stashed away somewhere in Richards' lab, something that, if it were to go missing, would make it obvious that someone had broken in and taken it. Plus there's always the chance of someone walking in on you and you being caught red-handed."

Okay, he could see her point, but he wasn't about to concede it. Seemed to him it would just be easier, cleaner, _neater_ to just hack their files. Then again, maybe he was just biased and itching to do something he was actually capable of doing. And since he couldn't use his powers, it appeared as though his computer skills would be the only other option, especially when he'd been told that his specific qualifications had landed him the job.

But he wasn't allowed to do either. Which made him wonder why the hell he'd been assigned this gig in the first place.

"Why me?" he managed to get out, voice rough as the words struggled to get past the lump of disappointment that had lodged itself in his throat. Lifting his head, he met her eyes with his own, frowning in confusion. "Why can't some other agent do it? Someone with experience going undercover like this?"

His mind race with the thought of countless agents who could handle the task. Romanov had posed as an assistant to Tony Stark before he'd teamed up with SHIELD, allowing her to make a full assessment report of him and whether she'd recommend him for the Avengers Initiative. Clearly she was the best option for the mission. Who the hell knew what kinda info she'd gotten outta countless men using her own assets.

And he wasn't referring to her ability to fight or love of all things sharp and deadly.

Hill's face was still flat and he briefly found himself wondering if she was, in fact, a robot of some description. "For starters, the ad requested a _male_ assistant."

Okay, so Romanov was out. There was still Ward, who'd gone undercover countless times and had connections all over the world. Barton, if push came to shove.

"They also want someone young."

Still didn't eliminate Ward or Barton.

Okay, _maybe_ Barton, but Ward was still young. He could definitely do the job.

"Fury picked you," Hill continued, giving him a pointed look at the reminder that the director himself had specifically given this assignment to Kendall. "Because you aren't as well-trained as the others." She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to object and he fell back against his seat, silent. "Yes, you know how to fight and shoot, which works in your favor should shit go south. We don't have to worry about you being unable to protect yourself in a dangerous situation. Not that we feel one should arise, but better safe than sorry."

"So why the comment about my supposed lack of training?" he questioned with more snark than he meant to let out, but he'd pretty much been insulted. Getting defensive was justified in that situation.

"I meant no training on how to go undercover," she clarified flatly. "You know just enough to be able to do it, thanks to your upbringing—" He stiffened at that, although he wasn't entirely sure if it was meant as a slight or not. "—but not to the point where you lose your sense of self and become an emotionless robotic parody of a human."

He had to stifle a laugh at the irony of him having just thought that of her. Instead, he kept his poker face up and his eyes locked on hers. "So, I know enough of the basic rules of going undercover to be able to do it, but no knowledge or experience of actually doing it? _That's_ why I was picked?" he double-checked, finding the whole thing hard to believe.

"Yes."

He snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned his head away, green orbs coming across the glass wall and the suited agents beyond it. He thought of his parents, of times when one or both had come to him to tell him they had to leave on a mission, neither promising they'd come home. He remembered times when he'd wake up with one or both missing, an agent sent in their place to watch over him, since he couldn't really have a real babysitter. And as much as he'd hated his parents being gone and missing them terribly, he'd hated the fact that he couldn't go with them even more.

It just seemed completely unfair that he'd been given those powers and had no outlet to use them. It was like being given a skateboard when living on a houseboat. Yeah, you could maybe use it around the deck, but what you really wanted was to get out there and just _go_, to use it for hours and hours and actually be able to _do_ something with it.

And he thought he'd finally been given that opportunity, only for it to be taken away once more. The boat was moving to a different location, but he was still stuck on it.

He wondered if his parents ever faced restrictions like this. Then he thought of how his parents were among those who were restricting _him_.

"Can't," he stated, turning his head back to the agent he was sitting across from. "My parents won't let me."

He felt like an eight year old telling his friend that he wasn't allowed to play at a certain park, but it was the truth. Every time he'd told his parents he wanted to be a SHIELD agent like them, it was met with worried looks and "I dunno, bud"s. He figured it was simply because he was so young and kids' dream professions changed over the years. To them, him wanting to be an agent was the equivalent of other children wanting to be princesses or rock stars or dinosaurs: cute, yes, but eventually they'd grow outta that phase and pick something more realistic.

Only he never did. As he grew older, he became more determined to do it. He learned to fight, to shoot, to drive, practicing all these skills until he was so exhausted he passed out on the couch and needed to be carried to bed. He learned foreign languages not because it looked good on college applications or because his parents wanted him to broaden his horizons, but because he knew they'd come in handy for overseas missions where he'd need to fit in or meet up with contacts, maybe even make some of his own.

And when his parents realized he'd been serious about becoming an agent, they began letting him down, telling him it was too dangerous and that he was better off doing office work than in the field. Their overprotection and hypocrisy had pissed him off so bad that he stopped talking to them for a full week. It was only when his dad nearly died that he apologized for being a brat.

He still never gave up on the hope of one day having a SHIELD badge and assignments of his own though.

Which made the fact that he was turning this mission down all the more unbelievable.

"_Your parents_," Hill began, gritting the words out, letting it be known without an explanation how she felt about the people who'd adopted Kendall. "Are the ones who requested you be given an assignment. In fact, your dad was the one who'd gone to Fury himself and practically demanded you'd be given field work."

His eyes widened at that, shock freezing him all over. His dad had been the one most against him becoming an agent. Not that either one of them wanted him out there, but he'd been the most vocal, the one who'd given that resounding "no" that still echoed in his head at night when his thoughts got dark and his chest got heavy. He was more protective, more outspoken about all the dangers Kendall could and would face, even before he'd made his future career goals known. His dad was the one who told him the world was a dark, shitty place and that if he didn't teach his son that, no one would. He was the one who told Kendall being a field agent would only happen over his dead body and that was the end of that discussion until his ashes were scattered somewhere in the Pacific.

Seemed like Kendall turning a mission down wasn't the only unbelievable moment of his meeting with Hill.

"_My_ dad?" He double-checked, pointing to himself, letting out a small laugh when she nodded. "Clearly you don't know my old man all that well."

"But I do."

The sound of a familiar male voice alerted Kendall to the presence of another person just to his left and he mentally kicked himself for not realizing there was someone else there.

Yeah, he'd be a _great_ agent.

Turning his head, his wide green eyes took in Agent Coulson as he meandered down the side of the table, smirk on his face. He was dressed in his usual dark gray suit and white collared shirt, black tie completing the look. The winkles on his face were more defined by his smile and his blue eyes held a conspiratorial twinkle in them that both comforted Kendall and made him uneasy. The elder male gave him a wink through a blackened eye, a cut visible on his lower lip, evidence of a recent scuffle. But he gave no indication that he was bothered by the injuries or in any sort of pain as he stopped about halfway down the long table, standing with his hands clasped in front of him.

"Phi—Agent Coulson," he corrected himself as he greeted the well-known figure, another face that always came to mind when Kendall thought of SHIELD and what it did.

The suited one's smirk grew at the slip of his name, knowing the familiarity between the two of them. Coulson had been one of the agents who'd found the blond and had even been assigned to watch over him from time to time when both his parents were away. It was so easy to just call him "Phil" as he had done so many times before that remembering to use the more formal greeting when at SHIELD was temporarily forgotten.

But if Coulson was offended by the slip, he didn't show it either, simply nodding his head at the younger male. "Nice to see you again, Kendall," he stated genuinely, before turning to Hill. "Sorry I'm late. Just got back from a meeting with Fury," he explained, shifting his focus to the younger male once again. "I also ran into your dad in the hallway before he left."

The mention of his old man and his impending mission made his chest tighten and his heart sink. His dad had said goodbye, but made no promises to return, just like always. Kendall knew it was because his dad had no way of guaranteeing he'd come home—extraction plan or not—and he didn't wanna make a promise he couldn't keep, but it still hurt him to know that even his dad never fully relied on his abilities to get him home safe.

The two days he'd spent in a coma as he healed after a helicopter crash in the Middle East were evidence of that.

"_The world's a dark, shitty place, son. The sooner you figure that out, the better off you'll be._"

"That where you got the shiner?" Hill questioned Coulson, drawing Kendall back to the present. A snarky look was on the female agent's face, a haughty tone to her voice. Things between the two of them had always been someone contentious, reminding Kendall of a sibling rivalry type of relationship, especially since it seemed as though they were both constantly vying to be Fury's favorite. No one ever seemed to come out on top, just like it was never clear who exactly outranked who between the two of them, a fact that just added to their strained interactions.

Coulson continued smirking as he focused in her. "Actually no," he clarified. "Serbian separatists. But I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Hill's eyes narrowed, her jaw clenching as she folded her arms over her chest. To anyone else, it would almost appear as though the two of them hated each other, but Kendall knew it was the opposite. They both respected the hell out of each other, and while they both competed for Fury's pick of favorite agent/kid, they genuinely did like and care for one another. He'd been told Hill was one of the most distraught people when Coulson had been killed before the Battle of New York, as well as one of very few who knew the details of how he was brought back.

Kendall had asked, but was told he wasn't cleared for that information.

He wasn't cleared for _any_ information, including some about himself.

Hence his recent, somewhat—okay, _incredibly_—illegal, electronic excursion into SHIELD's database.

Coulson turned back to the younger male, friendly smile still on his face as he spoke. "Your father told me you'd just been approved for your first mission and how much work he'd had to do in order to convince others you were ready. Apparently it was a source of a few heated debates between your parents."

Kendall's eyes focused on the table, frown wrinkling his brow. He'd had a feeling that had been the case. He'd overheard countless hushed conversations in angry tones through walls of the house, had seen discussions end when he walked in the room, his parents acting like nothing was wrong, and, no, they aren't arguing, everything was fine. He'd woken up to one of them still sleeping on the couch alone or one being snippy with the other as they hinted at what an ass that person was being.

The tension would ease when one left for a mission, staying that way upon their return, only for it to intensify once again a couple days later when the talk was brought back up. Kendall had noticed things had tapered off lately and that problems had probably been worked out a couple days before, although it also seemed like both his parents were worn down by it, a saddened resolve taking over them. He asked if they were splitting up, only to get an amused chuckle on response and insistences that neither was leaving the other, that they were still madly in love, that the three of them were still a family.

He'd still worried something major was happening and became paranoid that he was the reason, that maybe they were okay with having a kid around the house—albeit one who climbed walls and swung from chandeliers—but weren't too thrilled about having a young adult living with them. He started freaking out over whether they were sick of his powers and just wanted a normal child like any other parents, one that could've gone to public school then college then off to a regular everyday job somewhere out there. He never imagined their debates were about whether or not he should be allowed to do any missions.

Really though, he'd kinda been right about being the cause of the tension in the house.

Didn't that just make him feel like a swell guy?

"He also said," Coulson continued, Kendall listening without looking at him. "That he wanted me to watch over you and help you out as your contact."

That had the blond's head snapping up, looking at the elder male in puzzlement. "_You'd_ be my SO?" he questioned in disbelief.

Sure, he knew he needed a supervising officer, someone to get in touch with to give updates and let SHIELD know all was well. He just didn't think _Coulson_ would be that person. He figured the agent would be busy on missions of his own, would have no time for a regulated visit with a non-agent on an undercover assignment.

The suited one nodded, smirk turning into a proud grin. "It would be my honor to help you along your way during your first assignment," he stated genuinely, causing Kendall's eyes to widen more. "Fury has also personally guaranteed me and your parents that should you succeed, he'll see into it that you become a full agent of SHIELD."

He didn't think his eyes could get any wider, but they did. The same mix of adrenaline, hope, excitement, and joy came rushing back, making his heart pound and stomach flip and mind go fuzzy. A guarantee from Fury was better than one from the President of the United States himself. And now Kendall had his parents' backing to boot. It was gonna happen. He was gonna be an agent.

Details of the mission not withstanding, he turned back to Hill, determination and resolve on his features. "When do I start?"


	2. Interview

_**A/N: **__Um, I have nothing to say here other than complaints at "AoS" teasing us with parts of Coulson and Skye's backgrounds then going on hiatus. The fuck, brah?_

* * *

Kendall loved New York. He loved the bright lights and the gray buildings. He loved the hustle and the bustle. He loved the crowds and how he could get lost in them, become just another random anonymous person walking the streets on their way to...wherever. He loved the sights, the smells, the sounds that could only be found there.

He didn't, however, love the Queens apartment SHIELD had set him up with.

He knew he wouldn't be allowed to live where he usually did when staying in the city with his parents. Kind of an obvious thing really. Someone could follow him, look into where exactly it was he was taking up res in, and his cover would be blown wide open.

He just didn't expect such a shit-tacular apartment.

All right, he could admit it went along with his cover story. A recent college grad desperate for employment wouldn't be staying in some swanky loft on the UES; he'd be in the shitty, broken down, one room apartment he'd been set-up with.

Didn't mean it didn't suck though.

And when he compared it to the skyscraper he was currently standing in front of, it made the place seem even smaller and more run down. Terrific.

Kendall let out a long, low whistle at the sight of the Baxter Building, home to the Fantastic Four. He'd spent the night before reading up on the superhumans, their history before and after the accident, all the public information Google could provide, as well as some lesser known factoids given to him by SHIELD—and some he got via his own hack job into files he technically wasn't supposed to look at. He barely understood any of the science mumbo-jumbo, huge SAT-type words discussing radiation this and DNA that. His eyes had crossed as he tried to read it all before he just tossed it aside to study his cover once again.

Only "once again" had turned into "ten times", until he knew it as well as his own actual life. Which was kinda the point really. The more he had it memorized, the less likely he was gonna get tripped up when asked about it. Without any _real_ training, he felt as prepared as he could be and more or less ready to get started with Phase One of his mission: Job Interview.

Kendall took a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs to steel his resolve, before slowly blowing it out between puffed cheeks. He cleared his mind of everything except his cover, his alter-ego's backstory running through his mind once again.

It was a damn good one, a full history that had just enough of his own personality and abilities in it so he wouldn't be able to fuck it all up. After all, the best lie was one containing a small kernel of truth and that went double for undercover work.

He wasn't entirely sure why he'd been so surprised by the amount of detail in his faux-history though, or why he was impressed with the level of greatness it possessed. After all, good and believable cover stories were what SHIELD did, masking events and people from a general population that couldn't handle the truth about certain things. It was what the division had been doing since its inception in the late forties, something they'd improved in the decades since.

Something as meager and insignificant as a false identity for an undercover pseudo-agent was barely a blip on most agent's radars, especially when compared to events like a twenty-foot fire breathing robot from another realm nearly leveling a small New Mexico town as it attempted to destroy a demi-god.

Cover story securely planted at the forefront of his mind, Kendall pushed through the rotating door and entered the Baxter Building, ready to officially get started on his assignment.

The lobby was done in shades of copper, bronze, and gold, harkening back to an era long gone, a past decade of extravagance and wealth. Although which decade it referred to, he hadn't a clue. History hadn't exactly been his thing.

But still, it gave the place a fancy, regal appeal and Kendall found himself wondering how Richards could afford to live there. The building seemed very high end and expensive—like most of Manhattan really—and from the file he'd been given, the scientist was well in the red financially. The experiment on the Von Doom space station was supposed to have saved his ass money wise and maybe even give him extra cash to fund future projects. Instead, it had been a total disaster and had cost Jett Von Doom millions in damages and stock. The only gain that had been made from the whole thing was new superpowers each member of the five person crew had received.

Or four outta the five had received anyway. There was no word on whether or not Von Doom himself had suffered any side effects from the radiation cloud.

Not that powers were side effects or anything. That just made it sound like being super was a disease of some form.

Although during that impromptu press conference on the Brooklyn Bridge, Richards had certainly acted like they'd contracted something and made statements regarding "finding a cure".

Kendall had scoffed and wished the guy luck when he watched it on TV. His parents had backed him up on the sentiment.

His eyes scanned the lobby of the Baxter Building, noticing a couple elevator doors to the left. He momentarily debated just going up, since his SHIELD info pack had notified him that Richards—and now the other three members of the Fantastic Four—resided in the penthouse, but was unsure of the proper etiquette in this situation. Not only was it his first job interview, but it was also his first time being out in the world on his own, first time going somewhere that didn't have a SHIELD eagle logo on it.

He suddenly felt incredibly sheltered and, admittedly, a little lame.

"Excuse me?"

Kendall turned his head at the sound of the male voice, eyes regarding a man in his fifties dressed in a gray uniform. The doorman, if he had to venture some sorta guess.

The elder male approached him cautiously and curiously, friendly smile on his face. He stopped far enough away to be polite, but close enough so the blond could take in the name tag his uniform bore. Jimmy.

"Can I help you?" he volunteered, friendly smile still on his face, although it seemed more of a cover for the worry and concern in his kind old eyes.

"Uh, yeah," Kendall replied, fully turning his body to the doorman, putting on an easy grin of his own. He couldn't blame the old man for being cautious about an unknown person being in the lobby, especially considering the media frenzy that had seemed to finally taper off after days of cameras taking up res right outside the building's main entrance. The Fantastic Four were a huge story, every reporter out for information and/or blood, and as doorman, Jimmy most likely saw it as part of his job to protect his residents—especially the now famous ones—from harm or bad publicity.

Which, really, were one in the same.

Kendall put on his best innocent expression, one he'd used countless times on his parents when he was asked what happened to this gun or that com-device or why the hell is there webbing all over the gym? "I'm Kendall Knight," he lied easily, using the fake name he'd been given. "I have an appointment with Camille Storm."

Jimmy slowly nodded once before requesting that the guest hold on for one moment, then hustled his way towards the reception desk to the rear of the lobby. Kendall took the opportunity to run through his story once more as he meandered around the lobby, pretending to take in the ornate light fixtures and the etchings on the gold elevator doors. A starburst over a cityscape. Random, but at least it was a change from the sleek utilitarian gunmetal gray or bulletproof glass he needed to get his literal sticky paws off of, so help me, Parker, he was used to at SHIELD.

"Mr Knight?"

It took him longer than he cared to admit to remember that that was his name now, turning to see Jimmy behind the desk, friendly smile back on his face. Although now there was less strain to it, the worry and nerves gone from his expression.

"Miss Storm will be waiting for you," the doorman stated, hands clasped in front of himself. "Penthouse suite."

Kendall nodded his head in acknowledgment, giving him a small wave of thanks as his other hand pressed the "up" button. The elevator doors on the right immediately slid open with a ding, a cart ready and waiting for use. Stepping inside, he hit the "P" at the top of the rows of buttons, before settling against the back wall. A few seconds of waiting, then the doors slid shut and the cart jerked into motion.

His leg started twitching as his stomach knotted up, nerves making themselves known. A wave of anxiety washed over him as he started worrying about what he was about to do, who he was about to meet with. On the surface, it was just a tiny little job interview for a lowly assistant's position, but underneath all the superficial layers and cover story was something so much bigger and deeper. This was his entire future at stake, his one shot at becoming an agent. He wasn't about to fool himself into thinking he'd get another chance, that SHIELD would overlook any mistakes and allow a second take, that his parents would be okay with giving it another go. They clearly had gone through a lot to get him where he was at that moment, putting a lotta strain on them as a couple, as individuals, and as agents. To ask them to do it again would be too much, especially since any failure would pretty much just prove them right in their belief that Kendall couldn't be an agent.

Smearing a hand over his face, he tried calming himself down. He could handle this, he was gonna be fine. He'd been raised around SHIELD and its agents for nearly two decades now. He was taught hand-to-hand combat by Romanov, taught how to shoot by Ward, taught archery by Barton—although that seemed superfluous and unnecessary but he loved hanging with the guy nonetheless. He worked out with Captain America, got lessons in technology from Iron Man, and even learned some magic-science hybrid stuff from Thor. Hell, he'd been around Banner when the guy Hulked out. He could handle a stupid job interview.

Not to mention the fact that he'd been sent in by SHIELD and chances were they'd already set the whole thing up in a way that would pretty much guarantee Kendall got the gig and not some other, more qualified random off the street.

Feeling more relaxed and at ease, he looked over his appearance in the reflective gold of the elevator wall. Skinny tie still straight, white collared shirt still tucked in, black skinny jeans absent of holes or stains. It was more dressed up than he usually got—baring special occasions when he was required to wear a full suit, of course, but he figured he could save the slacks and jacket for the funerals they were typically worn for—but still had an air of casualness that came with being a recent college grad. Plus it was just a PA position. He wasn't going out for a presidency or something. _Then_ he'd bust out the funeral chic.

The elevator ground to a halt, dinging right before the doors slid open, his destination having been reached. Kendall took a cautious step out the cart and into a hallway, quickly realizing he was walking straight into the penthouse suite. The walls were a warm yellow, a rosewood door on either side, a small table to his right where a bundle of unopened mail sat, a bright red "_FINAL NOTICE_" stamp adorning the top one. He had a feeling the scarlet ink would be featured on the rest of the envelopes held within the strained rubber band.

The sound of heels clicking on marble floors drew his attention, green eyes soon coming across a petite female. Her long brown hair hung in loose curls down her back, professional gray slacks and white sleeveless blouse covering her frame, while sparkling brown eyes hid behind thick framed glasses. The look would've screamed "dorky librarian" on anyone else, but her confidence and inner-strength gave her more of a "sexy secretary" appeal. And with her porcelain features and cheerful disposition, it wasn't any surprise her file had her romantically connected to both Richards and Von Doom—albeit not at the same time.

"You must be Kendall," she greeted him in a friendly manner, right hand outstretched towards him as her left held a clipboard close to her hip. "I'm Camille Storm."

He returned the grin, shaking the hand that had been offered. "Nice to meet you."

They released hands, she putting hers on her hip. The smile stayed but with her close proximity, Kendall could note how strained it was, a lot like Jimmy's downstairs. Her bare shoulders were tense, as though there was a lot on them, and she flinched at the sound of a crash in the distance behind her, soon followed by a gruff "I'm gonna get you for that, flame brain!"

No wonder she needed help.

"I see you've got your hands full," Kendall commented, shoving his own appendages in the pockets of his jeans, forcing out a friendly laugh to let her know the statement was meant in a friendly, joking manner.

Camille snorted, eyes rolling behind her glasses. "You have _no_ idea," she replied, voice holding a slight fatigue to it.

The sound of metal on rock filled the space, the female scientist wincing for a brief moment before plastering a tight smile on her face once more.

"Shall we?" she questioned, gesturing to a door on her left with both hands.

Kendall nodded, watching as she turned the knob and headed into the room. He glanced down the hall, noticing for the first time how the space opened up at the end of the passageway. A huge gray area was visible, most likely where Richards did his work. Kendall knew from observing Banner, Stark, Fitz, and Simmons that a wide open space was optimum for scientists in order to have enough room for whatever their experiment entailed.

Not to mention literal room for error.

He watched as a dark haired male in a white lab coat—Richards, he assumed—rushed by the opening, commands of "James, stop!" and "Carlos, don't!" leaving his lips frantically. The cries went ignored as another bang sounded out, quickly followed by a gruff bellow.

"I'm gonna kill him!"

Kendall's eyebrows bobbed up and down once before he shook his head and turned away from the open space. SHIELD had its moments of overly-testosteroned competitiveness—sometimes even coming from those of a more estrogen persuasion—but it wasn't anything to _that_ level.

Not that he was aware of anyway. He'd heard stories of Captain America trying to goad Iron Man into a fist fight in his metal suit, but nothing ever came from that. Or the numerous other occasions the same request was made.

Would make for one helluva pay-per-view though.

Forcing aside all thoughts of dueling superbeings, Kendall followed Camille into the other room, she closing the door over in a halfway successful attempt to shut out the racket coming from elsewhere in the apartment.

The room turned out to be a study, judging by the fact that two of the walls were comprised almost entirely of shelves overloaded with books. The wall to the left had large windows that ran nearly floor to ceiling, New York City skyline on full display. The fourth was a forest green color, featuring a sizable framed photograph of a university of some form, a desk sitting nearly untouched right below it.

Camille sat on one of the two burgundy leather couches, gesturing for Kendall to join her. He did as directed, lowering himself onto the opposite end of the settee from her. The leather creaked under his weight and he hoped it didn't give away the fact that beneath his lean frame was dense muscle that allowed him to lift a large SUV with one hand.

Agent Barton had been impressed.

His dad had been pissed that Hawkeye had let his ten year old try and raise a car with his bare hands, no matter what the vehicle type or how many hands were involved.

Kendall didn't see Barton for a few weeks after that. The incident didn't exactly ease any tension that seemed to constantly be a presence in the relationship between his old man and the more easy-going agent.

Camille shifted in her seat, switching positions so her left leg was crossed over her right, spine straight as she slightly turned to him. He internally breathed a sigh of relief that the couch made noise for everyone, not just because he weighed more than he looked.

"So," she began, pausing as she flipped a couple pieces of paper back before situating the clipboard on her lap. She read the sheet that was on display her, face all business, eyes slightly narrowed and her lips pinched. The studious expression was fitting of someone who'd graduated MIT and ended up presiding over an entire department at Von Doom Industries. Although that job title was now gone.

The serious expression clearly wasn't though.

"It says here you recently graduated from NYU with a degree in computers." She arched an eyebrow over her glasses as she lifted her head to get a better look at the male she was interviewing, a questioning skepticism apparent in her shrewd eyes.

Kendall nodded, hands clasped between his knees to hide the shakiness. He hoped to hell his recent return of anxiety was interpreted as being nervous over a job interview and _not_ that he was worried over saying something he wasn't supposed to. Sure, he'd memorized his cover story the night before, had reread it during breakfast and before he left for the Baxter Building, but there was always a chance he could let something slip or answer a question wrong.

Although there was no harm in just nodding. And thankfully SHIELD had thought to put his fake degree in computers so he wouldn't have to pretend to have knowledge of something he had no clue about.

Small favors.

Or just really observant agents—which was most likely the reason—who noticed how he was almost always behind a computer screen of some description, despite his parents' blatant disapproval. Really though, it was kinda their fault, since they wouldn't let him go out and be social for fear of something happening to him or his abilities being noticed by someone far less friendlier than SHIELD. What else was a teenager to do if not waste time with electronic devices? He could only take so much working out and combat training before he felt like a soldier rather than a normal person.

Not that soldiers weren't normal.

Not that he himself _was_ normal.

"I see," Camille stated non-commitedly, skepticism still etched on her features. She folded her hands over the clipboard, Kendall noticing a fountain pen being held between slim fingers. "I gotta ask: why apply for this job? Why not some place where you can put your skills to good use?"

He winced at her words, recalling how Agent Hill had said his skills had landed him this assignment. He figured someone in his position would cringe at Camille's statement anyway, so there was no need to cover it up. After all, it wasn't like recent grads with degrees in technology sought jobs where their main task was to fetch coffee or pick up dry cleaning.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he hunched his shoulders in a motion that was half a shrug and half a cringe. "Honestly?" he reluctantly stated on a sharp inhale. "I just graduated and the student loans are already demanding to be paid. Not to mention the fact that I need to pay rent and water and my cell _and_ I need to eat, too." He dropped his hand onto his lap with a smack before continuing. "And given how crappy the economy is, it's hard to find any sorta job anywhere. I figured working one that didn't put my degree to good use was better than not working one at all and being out on my ass on the street somewhere."

Camille's bottom lip stuck out in a thoughtful pout, nodding as she conceded his point. "Makes sense," she admitted. "And since we're being honest, I gotta confess that I'm probably as desperate to hire someone as you are to be hired."

Kendall snorted, doubting that statement. He'd been desperate to be an agent for as long as he could remember, his earliest memories including asking his parents if he could go on missions and telling them he was gonna grow up to be just like them—well, as much like them as possible considering the whole powers thing. But over the past few years, his desire had deepened and intensified until the goal of becoming an agent turned into a burning need, an aching in his gut, a dream that needed to be fulfilled or he'd spend the rest of his life in a deep hole of depression he already felt himself slipping into.

This assignment, and the promise of a possible "Agent" title affixed to his name, was the lifesaver he'd been thrown that was gonna help rescue him from the turbulent waters that made up his reality and the maddening thoughts of never becoming who he wanted to be.

But if Camille noticed his disbelieving reaction, she didn't comment on it, simply continuing on with her thought. "Carlos is moody and depressed after the changes he went through and losing his fiancée. My brother is a rebellious, egotistical, self-centered, unthinking hothead. And Logan apparently can only pay attention to something if it has a formula or equation attached to it."

Kendall nodded, brow furrowed in thought as he mentally analyzed how her voice changed in tone with each sentence. When speaking of Carlos, she was sympathetic, saddened by her friend's tragic turn of events. With her brother, she sounded both annoyed and resigned, like she had accepted that was his behavior but was still aggravated by it. The irritation stayed when she talked about Logan, but with it came a small amount of sadness, her eyes turning down at the corners behind her glasses, the sparkle in them dimming somewhat. Kendall knew of the history between them thanks to the bios he'd been given by SHIELD, and it was clear part of Camille wasn't over her ex. But like with her brother, she'd accepted that the scientist's behavior was just how he was and was resolved to move on.

Easier said than done, he figured.

She cleared her throat, running a hand through her hair before putting a small smile on her face. But the light never fully returned to her eyes.

"The pay isn't all that great," she admitted apologetically. "And I'm sure I'll be more demanding than I mean to be, but taking care of three men—especially _these_ three men—isn't easy. Which is why I put an ad out for help."

Kendall nodded, seeming to understand what she meant by overly demanding grown men, his mind thinking of similar males he'd encountered over the years at SHIELD and at home. But something she said stuck out, something that niggled in the back of his mind and piqued his curiosity.

"I gotta ask," he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why a male assistant? Seems like all the testosterone in here is part of the problem. Anyone else would ask for a female in order to up the estrogen and try to level the playing field a bit."

She see-sawed her head, clearly seeing his point, smoothing her hands over her clipboard as she stared down at it. "It's because of my brother," she sighed. "He's a bit of a—" She paused, see-sawing her head once more, this time in an attempt to come up with the right conclusion to her sentence. "Well, a whore, for lack of better terms. There isn't a female he's met that he hasn't taken back to his bed. Other than ones he's related to, of course." She shook her head rapidly to get herself back on course. "But anyway, the last thing I need is to replace my assistant on a weekly basis because he's slept with her and things are awkward or he wants her gone for good or she leaves with a broken heart, something like that. I have enough to deal with when it comes to James and I don't need to add this to the list."

Kendall nodded again, something he seemed to be doing a lot that afternoon, before he spoke. "Well, you don't need to worry about me," he promised, meaning every syllable. He wasn't about to let anything compromise his mission, including superbeings that embodied several versions of the term "hot".

Not that James would even be interested in Kendall in the first place really. Guy was as straight as one of Barton's arrows. Just because Kendall had a habit of checking out Ward's ass more than Romanov's didn't mean every guy who looked at him would feel the same physical attraction.

Although it would've been nice if it happened once. Then he wouldn't be a twenty-two year old virgin who'd never so much as kissed someone.

'Cause the spider-like powers didn't make him enough of a weirdo...

Not that being a virgin at his age was anything weird. He was sure lots of twenty-somethings still had their v-cards. Although most of 'em probably kept it for religious reasons and his was due to a lack of choice, since his only interaction with people outside his family were with SHIELD agents and they all saw him as that lab experiment they rescued over a decade and a half ago. Not to mention his parents probably threatened anyone who so much as _thought_ about flirting with their adopted mutant kid.

Awesome. He was _never_ getting laid.

"So," Camille said a little louder than necessary, snapping Kendall out of his mental tangent. She leaned forward, forearms resting on the clipboard over her lap, heavy sigh leaving her. "Like I said, the pay sucks, I'll be demanding, this is a thankless job with pretty much no benefits and a whole lotta stress and running around doing menial tasks," she rambled before cutting herself off and shaking her head rapidly.

"But it is a job," Kendall pointed out. "And like _I_ said, I need one." He twisted his lips to the side in a faux expression of reluctant admittance. The desperation to be hired wasn't all that hard to fake though.

She let out a small laugh, lips twisted in a wry grin. "Seems like this is a match made in desperation heaven then."

He snorted out a laugh of his own, smirking as well. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt on the subject of Heaven, but if it got him a job as an Agent, he'd believe in anything at that point.

He watched as she folded the papers down from where they'd been wrapped around the top of her clipboard, smoothing them flat and capping her pen. Resolve steeled her features, her shoulders set, determination evident in her narrowed eyes and pursed lips. "When can you start?"

Kendall didn't bother hiding the smile that threatened to break out on his face, feeling his dimples form on his cheeks. "When do ya need me?" he asked back, holding his arms out to the side in a wordless way to explain how ready and available he was.

A crash sounded out from elsewhere in the apartment, a bellowed threat of extinguishing "that matchstick asshole!" soon following. More yelling accompanied it, references to literal crater faces and Bic lighters, as well as pleads for the two males to quit fighting.

Camille sighed from her place on the sofa, eyes closed in an attempt to find some sorta internal peace. After several long seconds, she reopened her eyes and focused on Kendall. "How about yesterday?" she joked, lips curved up to one side in a half-smile, half-grimace.

He gave her a sympathetic smile back, wondering what the hell exactly he'd gotten signed up for. He figured it was normal for bickering to take place amongst team members, since no one was exactly alike and therefore wouldn't agree on everything all the time. But the level of animosity he was hearing between two members of the Fantastic Four—Grimm and Storm, if he figured right—was beyond what he'd anticipated. It almost seemed like the guys genuinely just hated each other and loathed the fact that they were now stuck together due to circumstances that were out of their control. Not fun for anyone involved.

No wonder Camille was so desperate for help.

He followed her lead as she rose to her feet, placing the clipboard on her previous seat on the leather couch before walking past him and out the study. Kendall didn't hesitate to go after her, keeping a step behind as she hurried down the hall—well, hurried as much as her heels would allow anyway—and into the large area he had glimpsed at earlier.

The area opened up to its full two story height, the floors bare concrete, the walls exposed brick. On the right was an open kitchen space, complete with a rectangular dining table with six mix-matched chairs. To the left was a hallway that Kendall assumed lead to more rooms of some description. Above him, a metal walkway rounded three-fourths of the circular space, the last part of the room floor to ceiling windows that offered more of the view he'd seen in the study.

Camille walked down the two steps that stretched around the room, striding over the open space to where other members of her team were located. Kendall identified them easily from his SHIELD packet, as well as countless stories on the morning news.

Carlos Grimm was the easiest to recognize, his entire body comprised of orange rock. A pair of large slacks were his only clothing, feet bare, hands making an awful grinding noise as he clenched his fingers into fists. The stones that now passed for his eyebrows were drawn down, dark eyes glaring at the target of his current rage, deep voice grumbling about how he was gonna kill the oversized lighter.

Behind him, with his rubber arms wrapped around the rock monster multiple times, was Logan Richards, the leader of the Fantastic Four. His dark brown hair was disheveled, unstyled save for the obvious way he'd been pulling at it, white streaks near his temples that were caused by the radiation cloud that had hit the space station. His skin was the usual ghostly pallor Kendall knew to be common among all lab-addicted individuals, a trademark of those who were tanned more by fluorescent lights than the sun. His face was strained as he struggled to hold back his friend, gritting out requests for the larger male to calm down, pleads that went ignored and talked over by more death threats.

Standing a couple feet in front of the twosome was the final member of the team and the cause of the obvious tension, James Storm. His hip was cocked out, arms folded over his chest, not seeming all that scared or intimidated by the rock monster's yells. Instead, he rolled his eyes and mimicked talking with his tongue sticking out in a mature manner. His brown hair was longer on top, professionally styled, skin a nice even tan that Kendall found himself wondering as to whether it went all over his body.

Shit.

The blond found his eyes locked onto the flame-thrower, swallowing hard at the sight of the toned muscles that were visible through the burgundy graphic tee that was obvious chosen for that very reason. His long legs were covered by dark denim jeans so tight it must've taken a miracle to put on—and take off—black boots on his feet. But it was his face that Kendall couldn't tear his gaze from: a strong jaw, slender nose, cheekbones etched by a god of some form—he'd have to ask Thor if there was an actual god in charge of creating someone like James, or if James was actually Asgardian, since there was no way someone like _that_ came from lowly ol' Earth. Flames danced in his dark eyes, long lashes framing them, the heat in his stare focused on the stoney one that was glaring right back at him.

A tingle broke out over Kendall's skin, one he'd never felt before, a far cry from the sensation he'd experienced at the back of his head when he and Barton had covered Fury's office in silly string right as the director had headed down the hall towards them, or the time he'd gone out on his own in NYC and had happened upon a mugging in progress. He'd talked to Banner about it, who figured it was some sorta special sixth sense that alerted him to danger.

Although Kendall wasn't entirely sure that wasn't what was happening at that moment. Sure, it _felt_ different, but he certainly believed he was gonna be in trouble when it came to James. The brunet was definitely the most gorgeous guy the he'd ever set eyes on, human, superbeing, demi-god, or anything else. And given the way his heart was pounding a lot like the time he'd accidentally walked in on a fresh from the shower Ward in a locker room at SHIELD HQ, there was a definite attraction to the flamethrower.

And with attraction came a whole lotta problems with keeping shit straight and remaining professional during his assignment.

'Cause this shit wasn't gonna be difficult enough...

He was snapped outta his spacing by the sounds of heels clicking against the concrete floor. Focusing on the situation at hand, he watched as Camille marched over to her younger brother, hard stare of her own glaring through her glasses. "What the hell did you do now, James?"

The younger Storm sibling turned to the elder, arms out to the side in a wordless "what the hell?" manner. His eyes widened, lips parting in disbelief that he'd be accused as the instigator in whatever fight that was happening at that moment. "What the fuck makes you think it was _my_ fault?" he questioned back, dubious.

The lone female stopped before him, arms crossed, lips pinched. "Oh please," she snorted, eyes rolling. "You really expect me to believe that you didn't do anything and that Carlos just randomly decided he wanted to kill you for no reason?"

James put his hands on his hips as he fully turned his body to her, head tilted down to make eye contact with the shorter female. "Would that really be so hard to believe?"

"Knowing you? Yes."

He snorted, shaking his head like he couldn't comprehend the fact that his sister would just accuse him like that and not think he was innocent in all this, before dropping his hands. "Whatever," he muttered, dismissing the disagreement without either confirming nor denying his part in the fight with Carlos. "I'm outta here." With that, he stepped around his sister, walking in long strides towards Kendall.

But if he saw the blond male standing there, he didn't acknowledge him, instead snatching up his leather jacket from where it lay on the steps and ignoring the presence of anyone else.

Camille spun around on a heel, ire gone from her stare, now replaced by a look of disbelief of her own. "James, you can't leave. What if—?"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure I _can_, Cam," the younger Storm interrupted, slipping his jacket on as he took both steps at once and made his way towards the hall Kendall and Camille had previously walked down. "It's a free country and last time I checked, I'm not under house arrest." He didn't look at anyone as he spoke with a snarky tone, eyes focused on the elevator located at the end of the passageway.

"This isn't over, flame-brain!" Carlos bellowed, struggling once more to get out of Logan's grip, the scientist tightening his hold.

James turned around and walked backwards, arms outstretched on either side of himself. "I'm right here, big guy. Come get me."

The rock monster growled, fighting Logan once more. Kendall and Camille both ran over to try and help hold him back, the blond putting his hands on a stoned chest and forcing himself not to use all his strength as he pushed. Would be a dead giveaway if he was able to hold back a few hundred pounds of rock all by himself.

Kendall heard a scoff in the distance behind him and chanced turning his head, watching as James rolled his eyes and turned around, continuing on his way to the elevator. He tried not to think about how great the other male's ass looked in those jeans, refused to acknowledge the fact that part of him was bummed the guy was leaving before they could probably meet or make-out. Not that he wanted to make-out with him.

Okay, he did, but he was pretending like he didn't. Was a whole lot safer that way.

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open, and within moments, James had disappeared behind the same gold etching of a cityscape, the dial above the doors showing each floor the cart passed by on its way to the lobby.

The brunet was gone. And the blond was trying so hard to pretend he didn't care.

The wall he was pushing against suddenly relaxed, reminding him it was actually a person he was holding back. He removed his hands, taking a step away from Carlos, Camille doing the same. Rubber arms unwound from around stone ones, the rock monster sighing heavily as the fight left him.

"You okay, big guy?" Logan queried, hand on his friend's shoulder as he moved to his front. Concern was in his voice as well as on his face, worry etched in hard lines around his eyes and forehead. He looked older than he was, a result of the stress brought on by his line of work as well as his current situation.

Carlos just nodded, forcing a smile on his face, his features shifting as though they were made of flesh rather than orange rock. "Yeah," he replied, gruffly. "I'm good."

The scientist returned the grin with an uneasy one of his own, patting the other male's shoulder before dropping his hand. He smeared a hand over his face, his features pulled by the action, but snapping back into place immediately after in a way that was cool yet gross. His eyes briefly met Camille's, who gave him a "I'm sorry" smile and shrug, looking as though she wanted to help change her brother but knowing there wasn't anything she could do. Then he finally turned and acknowledged Kendall.

"Sorry 'bout all that," he stated genuinely, lips twisted in a "what can ya do?" grin, a dimple forming in his cheek. "You must be the new assistant."

"Yes!" Camille snapped into action, stiffening her spine as she rose out of her slumped position, glad that her brother and his actions had been dismissed as quickly as he had dismissed them. "This is Kendall Knight. He just graduated NYU with a degree in computers."

Logan cocked an eyebrow at the mentioned male, the same skeptical look on his face that Camille had worn earlier. "Computers? Then why are you working here for us?"

The blond put his nearly non-existent acting skills to use, shrugging nonchalantly as he gave an answer that was quick, understandable, and believable. "Need the cash."

The shorter male snorted, hands moving to his hips, the action pushing back his lab coat and revealing the dark jeans and button down beneath. "I can relate," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, looking around the room. Kendall figured he was seeing what was missing more than what was there, thinking back to when he'd witnessed Fitz and Simmons during another back and forth ramble as they listed items they needed for their latest project, the two of them fluttering about their lab space.

Apparently scientists were never happy with what they had.

Then again, if they were, then they wouldn't invent or discover new things. So maybe it was good they were never fully satisfied.

Carlos stepped forward, his bare feet hitting the concrete louder than anyone else's steps. "Carlos Grimm," he introduced himself gruffly. "I'd shake your hand," he offered, before shrugging and giving a twisted grin. "But I'd probably break it."

Shrugging himself, Kendall told him it was fine, making sure he made no mention of how any broken bones he'd suffer would be healed in a matter of days, a fact that'd been discovered when he was ten and had snapped his leg in three places after Barton dared him to jump from one building to the next without use of his webs during a visit to Stark Industries.

Seemed like Barton was a cause of a lotta mischief—and injuries—during Kendall's adolescence. No wonder his parents weren't too fond of the guy.

Whatever. Kendall liked him and thought he was fun. He'd have to see if he wanted to go racing from rooftop to rooftop next time they were in the same city.

Logan _did_ shake his hand as he introduced himself, before putting the appendage back on his hip and glancing around the space. Kendall did the same, seeing knocked over metal shelves, a dent in the refrigerator, and scorch marks on the walls and floor. Clearly one helluva fight had taken place during his job interview and he wondered if something like that took place every day or if this was a random occurrence.

The scientist let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he turned back to the newly hired assistant. "You sure you wanna join this madness?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow, giving the younger male an out.

James' face flashed in Kendall's mind before he shoved it aside, focusing instead on his own mug and how it would look on a SHIELD pass.

"Yeah," he answered honestly, small smile playing on his lips. "I wanna join."


	3. Night

_**A/N: **__Um... so updates for this will be few and far between (because they're not already, right?), but my mind's been taken over by another ship (SORRY! SORRY! NoI'mnotbut SORRY!) and with ABC being buttmunchers and deciding to put "AoS" on a hiatus literally every other week (which seriously, wtd, cut the shit), it's just hard to be into this..._

_Apologies to Colorado and Russia, but...yeah. You'll see when you read it. Super minor warning for super minor brief mentions of gun violence and terrorist attacks (seriously, nothing as bad as what is actually shown on "AoS" or any MCU movie so not even a biggie). This chapter also includes brief allusions to abuse, experimentations on humans, and slight PTSD, so warning for those (which are also included in main warnings for whole fic). Don't think I need to warn for anything else. Um. Enjoy...?_

_Oh! Dialogue from Logan and Carlos are actual quotes from "The Fantastic Four" movie. DON'T SUE! I use with love :D_

* * *

Kendall was given a tour of the penthouse, including the large open lab area and a smaller adjacent room where several computers and countless medical equipment was located. He cringed at the ancient desktops, Logan wincing apologetically as he reluctantly admitted that he hadn't had a chance to upgrade due to financial issues.

"It's been a rough couple months," he'd admitted.

"Yeah, sixteen in a row," Carlos had gruffly added on. Kendall had acted like it was a surprise, raising his eyebrows in response, when he knew exactly when the money trouble had started and how deep in it Richards was.

He'd handed his phony license and social security cards to Camille for her records, knowing they would seem as legitimate as the real things. He didn't worry about any of them running background checks, well aware how far SHIELD went for a cover story. Chances were "Kendall Knight" had high school and college transcripts with grades that were good but not perfect, a driving record with possibly a speeding bust just to make it seem more believable, as well as birth records and medical history full of immunizations, a couple illnesses, and maybe a broken bone or two.

Dinner was Chinese take-out from a place a block away, eaten at the table in the kitchen area. Kendall told lies about where he'd come from, what it'd been like at NYU, his regular nine-to-five business parents. He hated himself for lying to them, especially when he saw what a family unit they already seemed to be. Camille had comforted Carlos when he'd bitten through his chopsticks on accident, the rock monster then later reassuring Logan that what happened on Von Doom's station was an accident. The genuine way they seemed to care about each other made Kendall feel like a phony, something he wasn't all that familiar with. Except for maybe his false last name when at SHIELD HQ. But using his middle name as his surname was nothing compared to pretending to be an entirely different person.

He chalked the feeling up to just being unfamiliar with the whole situation and that given enough time, he'd become more comfortable with it. His inexperience was just causing his conscience to be screwed with a bit. He'd get used to it and would no longer feel bad about lying. After all, it wasn't like Agents went around worrying about whether or not they were a terrible person because of what they did or said or how they acted while undercover. They just did it and moved on to the next assignment without a passing thought to how the previous one had gone down. Given time, he'd be the same way.

At least he hoped he would be.

James didn't come back to the apartment, despite his sister calling his cell several times, all going unanswered and unreturned. Kendall had shrugged off her apologies, stating that it was fine, he'd just meet the guy the next day, that he would be spending a lotta time at the penthouse with them so there were plenty opportunities for them to speak. He refused to admit, either out loud or to himself, that he was actually a little saddened at the lost opportunity to get to know the brunet and have an actual conversation with him.

He shoved all thoughts of the flamethrower aside as he entered his one-room apartment that now seemed even smaller thanks to the two-story penthouse he'd spent the afternoon and evening in. The walls had been white at some point, he was pretty sure anyway, but thanks to years of not being cleaned, they were now closer to a yellow with a black stain dripping down the back left corner that he didn't wanna think about. The fridge and stove hadn't been updated since the sixties at the latest, around the same time the brown and yellow shag carpet had been installed. To the right was his small kitchen area, complete with ant trail—he needed to remember to get traps the next day since he'd forgotten them again that evening—that could only work one appliance at a time, meaning he had to chose between making toast or coffee in the morning, or the whole apartment would get shorted out.

To the left was his bathroom, a tiny space that barely had room for the toilet, sink, and shower it housed. The grout between the tile had black spots of its own that he'd bleached the fuck out of the day before, to the point where he puked in his stained toilet for nearly ten minutes straight. At least the thing flushed and the water was clean. Water pressure in the shower sucked though, but he figured he could make do as long as it was actually warm.

Two steps into the apartment and he was in the combination living/bedroom. An old TV sat on top of a milk crate, the cable fuzzy and picture shitty. The fold-out couch was still open, sheets and pillows rumpled and messy on top of it where he hadn't bother making his bed that morning. Another milk crate was on either side, one holding a lamp and charger for his cell, the other covered by his laptop, both electronic devices given to him by SHIELD, both devices outdated and old. He cursed his alter-ego for not having rich parents.

His suitcase sat open under the window on the back wall and he headed straight over, loosening his tie as he shuffled along his way. He removed the item, tossing it on top of his other clothes, before toeing off his shoes. Not wasting any time, he changed into a clean pair of boxers and plain tee, grabbing a bottle of water from his barely cold fridge, before settling on his couch-bed.

Only to remember his remote was on top of the TV.

Shit.

Feeling lazy, he flicked his wrist to shoot a web out, figuring no one was around to witness him do so. He'd closed the blinds over his window after he'd checked the locks on them when he'd first arrived the day before and hadn't opened them since. And with no parents around to tell him "no", he figured there was no harm in using his webs to do the work for him. After all, why else would he have them if not to be lazy?

With care, he tugged on the web and brought his remote to him, grabbing it in the air with quick reflexes before it hit him in the face. One hand lifted his bottle to his face as he drank deep, the other flipping through the channels until he came across a twenty-four hour news network. The familiar sound of an anchor droning on through the days' headlines made him feel at home in the strange apartment, allowing him to tune out the outside world of police sirens and loud neighbors and put him at ease.

Which was kinda strange, considering the fact that anchor was currently discussing the rise in gun crimes in Colorado.

To each their own, he figured.

Kendall recapped his bottle, putting it on the milk crate to his left before he grabbed his cell phone. He scrolled through his contact list, stopping at the one labeled "_Dad_", knowing it wasn't actually the number for his old man as he hit '_call_'.

"_Coulson._"

The corner of his lips quirked up in a small form of a smile at the sound of his SO's voice, once again amused at how the Agent had programmed his number in under the paternal pseudonym. He'd explained it was to help with Kendall's cover, that it would seem strange if there wasn't a "Dad" programmed in the contacts, but someone named Phil. The blond figured he was using the same logic when he put in Hill's info under "Mom".

Fury was Grandpa. Kendall hoped to god he'd never have to use that one, if for no other reason that he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to speak through the laughter at the thought of the director being anyone's grandparent.

"Hello, my lovely SO," Kendall spoke down the phone, grinning to himself as he muted the TV, putting the captions on then dropping the remote to his side.

A small snort of a laugh sounded down the line, Coulson seeming amused by his ward's greeting. "_Hello, Kendall,_" he replied fondly, grin almost audible. He always seemed to have a soft spot for the younger male, despite being somewhat gruff and stiff with others. Kendall wasn't sure if it was because of his age, the circumstances of how he'd been brought into the agent's life, or if it was just because Coulson genuinely liked him, but he decided it didn't matter. Having a high ranking agent like Phil Coulson on your side was never a bad thing and was proving to be beneficial already.

"_I take it you got the job,_" the supervising officer wisely assumed, the sound of creaking leather joining his words. The blond pictured him in his office chair, leaning back, feet propped on the desk. Let no one ever say that Coulson didn't know how to relax.

Hill on the other hand...

"Yeah, I got it," Kendall confirmed, settling down himself so he was mostly laying, shoulders and head propped up against the back of the couch, the thin pillow barely helping make him more comfortable. "Got a tour of the penthouse, too, was shown the lab and their computer system—which, by the way, was enough to nearly make me cry, they were so ancient. Like, I don't even think I was _born_ when they were made. It would honestly surprise me if the screens weren't black with green letters."

Another snort from Coulson, followed by the sounds of a head shaking against leather. "_We didn't send you in there to inspect their technology._"

"I know, I know," he placated, rolling his eyes before focusing the green orbs on where his free hand lay on his stomach. "But it would make my job a whole lot easier if they had a desktop from this century."

"_We also didn't send you there to hack into their system._"

"Yeah, 'cause you could've saved a whole lotta cash by just letting me do that from home."

A sigh came down the line, a sign the younger male was pushing his luck at the moment and needed to cut the shit. Fast.

"Sorry," he apologized, hoping he sounded like he meant it when he didn't actually feel it. "I know I'm not supposed to hack or use computers or any of that shit. I'm supposed to observe and report," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. He'd spent his entire life dealing with restrictions, with people telling him what he could and couldn't do, with constant refusals to let him use his skills and/or powers.

That shit was getting old fast.

Too bad for him it was pretty much gonna continue until he was in a coffin box six feet under. Assuming his parents would bury him rather than cremate him. Assuming further that he could even die...

"_And have you observed anything you need to report?_" Coulson questioned down the phone line, voice all business, the tone one Kendall had heard him use countless times with his parents and other agents.

He picked at his white shirt, lifting it off his stomach and letting it fall back down onto his skin before picking it up and doing it all over again. He was pouting, he knew it, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. The unfairness of the entire situation was weighing heavily on him, to the point where he couldn't find the strength to even want to pull himself out from under it. And, okay, he could admit that it was childish and stupid, that he'd done practically the same thing when he was eight and told he couldn't swing around the room from a web or try to lift the actual gym equipment or attempt to fly off the balcony, I don't care if there's a pool there, how many times do we need to go over this before you get it through your head, Kendall?

But honestly, he kinda felt like he was being treated like an eight year old. It was as though everyone around him still believed he was that scared little kid they found, one who didn't know what he could do or how to handle anything, much less shooting webs or crawling up walls. He was an adult now, twenty-two years old. He could handle his powers, handle his life, handle this fucking assignment without the need for restrictions or rules. He doubted Barton or Romanov or Ward were held back. The most they'd be disallowed to do would be killing someone, but even then, SHIELD would trust their judgment.

Then again, they'd earned that trust, earned the right to be set free and judge for themselves. Kendall hadn't. He wasn't even a full agent, just a civilian—more or less—doing a job for them. And this was his first assignment ever, one that came with a promise of possibly becoming an agent, which brought its own possibility of earning more freedom in future assignments—and maybe even with his parents and his powers.

'Course he had to make it through this assignment in the first place, had to do the job that was requested of him and do it well. And in order to do that, he needed to quit being such a fucking brat and just get on with it.

He smeared a hand over his face as his resolve settled in, determination kicking him in the ass. "Not much of anything to be honest," he answered before sighing. "I met three members of the team. Storm seems to be every bit as hot-headed as the bio says and he left in a rage before I could say hi."

Coulson let out a non-committal "_hmm_" down the line and Kendall found himself scrambling to say something more informative and important.

"Richards seems to blame himself for whatever happened on the Von Doom station," he quickly added, shoving his fingers through his hair and scratching at his scalp. "And Grimm is practically all rock. He bites through metal utensils without even realizing it."

"_Interesting,_" his SO commented, tone not completely flat, managing to sound slightly intrigued by the facts he'd been given. "_Well, I'm sure you'll find out more when you actually start your job there. You'll be able to get a better feel for them and what they're capable of when you're around them more._"

Kendall's brow furrowed as he focused down at his hand once more, slight pout to his downturned lips. He didn't mean to, but he found his mind slipping to the member of the Fantastic Four he hadn't interacted with, wondering if he'd be around the flamethrower at all and hoping they'd be able to spend a lot of time together.

For the assignment, of course.

Fuckin' eh, even _he_ didn't believe that.

"Yeah," he breathed out, eyes flicking up to the TV screen. The same anchor drone was speaking, this time about the recent terrorist activity in Russia, another building bombed near Moscow. He felt his heart sink to his stomach, his blood freezing, that sixth-sense danger alert tingling at the back of his head.

His dad was in Russia helping deal with the threats.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Kendall tore his eyes from the screen, staring at his hands as his fingers played with the worn hem of his shirt. "Have you," he started then paused, hating how shaky his voice sounded. He gritted his jaw for a brief moment before trying again. "Have you heard anything about my dad?"

"_Your father and Agent Romanov landed in Moscow a few hours ago,_" Coulson informed him in his all-business tone, not aware that the mentioned female agent accompanying the male one caused issues in Kendall's house. "_They're scheduled to meet with their contact there soon._"

The blond worried at his bottom lip, nodding his head, forgetting the other male couldn't see. The anxiety remained, causing a tightness in his chest, one he didn't comment on. It wasn't anything against Romanov. He knew she was an amazing agent, one with countless skills that could be used in countless situations, so clearly she was an asset and could help take care of his dad better than damn near anyone else at SHIELD. But he still couldn't help but feel like he'd rather have someone else be his dad's partner during this mission, if for no other reason than to ease tension between his parents.

He started wondering if there was anything about SHIELD—and himself—that didn't cause issues with his parents.

He couldn't think of anything at that moment.

"_I'll meet with you in a couple days and get an update,_" Coulson stated, bringing Kendall back to the moment and away from Russia and former Red assassins. "_I'll text you a time and place. For now, just focus on what needs to be done._"

"Sounds good," he muttered, still staring at his hand, still not entirely with the program. Everything seemed so much simpler a couple days prior, so much better. He was at home with both parents, he wasn't worried about anyone dying in a mission or a marriage being ruined, he didn't have the pressure of his first assignment weighing on him, and he hadn't met James Storm.

Fuck his life.

"_Kendall?_"

He smeared a hand over his face, forcing himself to be more awake and aware of what was happening. "Yeah, I'm here, I'm listening."

"_Good. I'll see you in a couple days. And don't worry. You'll do fine._" With that, his SO ended the call without any goodbyes.

Kendall let out a sigh as he tossed his phone next to him on the couch bed, before grabbing it and plugging it in. His assignment wasn't all that difficult really, especially when compared to the life-or-death situation his dad was currently in.

Okay, clearly thinking about his old man wasn't helping relax him. What he needed was a good night sleep and a great start to the next day.

And maybe a new life.

Getting up, he double-checked all the locks and flipped off the lights before laying back on the couch-bed. He turned the sound back on on the TV then got comfy, closing his eyes. If he pretended enough, he could actually believe he was at home, laying on his parents actual couch and falling asleep as they watched the news.

* * *

_The room was dark, cold, just like the man who kept him in it. The walls were dark gray, exposed cement blocks, no windows, just a single overhead light bulb that hung from a string, the switch located on the other side of the locked door. His only furniture was a cot, a rough blanket, a toilet in the corner with a sink next to it._

But despite the bleakness of the space, he felt safe in it, secure. It was the only room he'd ever known throughout his five short years, the world outside unknown and scary. He'd heard stories of it, tales of how people wouldn't understand him or his abilities, how they'd use him to do evil things, how they'd cut him up to see how his insides worked, how his powers worked. Yeah, Kendall was perfectly fine inside that room, alone and safe from anyone who would cause him harm.

Well, most of the time he was alone and safe.

The light flicked on and he started shaking, wide eyes immediately flicking over to locked door. He heard the padlock rattle on the other side, knew it also locked on the inside. A combination, one only the man—Kendall's dad_—knew the code for, an insurance policy so Kendall couldn't harm him._

The idea was still a tempting one, considering how much damage his father had done to him. He always drew blood, wanting to test it, to make sure the young boy was still the way his father had "made" him, whatever that meant. He'd goad the small child into using his powers, forcing him to climb walls in order to get away from cattle prods or fires, making him swing from webs he'd been forced to shoot out through painful grabs at his wrist. It was a wonder he ever did it for fun, but considering it was all the entertainment he had in that room, Kendall didn't really have much of a choice.

Not that he had a choice about anything in his life really.

But the fear of minor burns and electric shocks goading him into using his powers was nothing compared to what had been happening to him recently. His father had purposefully burned him, electrocuted him, cut him, broken his bones, all in the name of research, all to see how fast he'd heal from the various injuries. He'd cried for hours after each one, wishing there was someone there to hold him and help take his pain away.

But he was alone. Just like always.

For the moment at least.

Kendall heard the sounds of the padlock being removed, the brace opening, locks turning. Shooting a web to the ceiling, he pulled himself up outta arm's reach, curling up as much as he could while maintaining his sticky hold on the roof. He was delaying the inevitable, he knew this, just like he knew he was only gonna further aggravate his father by being uncooperative. But what choice did he have? His entire body had started shaking all over, fear churning his stomach, phantom pains shooting through his arms and legs where he'd been cut, burned, and broken. He didn't wanna be hurt anymore, didn't want these powers. He just wanted to be a normal boy with a normal father who didn't hurt him in the name of research or for any other reason.

He shut his eyes tight against the tears that tried to make their way out and down his cheeks, against the sight of the man who harmed him, against the gray walls and the harsh overhead light bulb. His ears pricked at the sound of the door swinging open, the creaking hinges, the scrape of metal against cement. He curled up even more, a small whimper leaving his clenched lips as he wished himself away before—

Kendall's eyes shot open, entire body bolting upright. His heart was pounding, breath sawing harshly in and out of his lungs. Green orbs darting around the room as he took in his surroundings, as he tried to figure out where he was and what was happening.

The apartment in Queens.

He wasn't in that room.

Thank. God.

He inhaled shakily, holding the air in his lungs, before blowing it out through his lips. He was fine. He was safe. He was okay.

He was totally mentally fucked, but other than that, okay.

Raising a shaky hand, he ran his fingers through his hair, noting the sweat clinging to the dirty blond strands. The nightmare wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the fact that it was real, that it had happened to him. A lot of his memories of his time in that room had been suppressed and he barely remembered any of it—thankfully. But every now and then, they'd surface, make themselves known while he was sleeping, causing nightmares that shook him to his very core.

And it was always when he was away from his parents.

Having one parent at home was fine. The nightmares usually didn't appear then and even if they did, he could always crawl into their bed and cuddle with whoever was home. But when both of them were away on a mission, that's when things were worse. And depending on who was watching him, it differed how he dealt with it. Barton would let him stay up all night watching "Star Wars" and eating ice cream. Romanov let him beat up various punching bags and dummies in the gym. Ward let him shoot at targets and tell him to pretend the anonymous black silhouette was the shadow of that man.

Strangely enough, it seemed like Ward understood his problems the most.

On occasion, Kendall would sleep in his parents' bed alone, the scent of them remaining on the pillows enough to ease him. Sometimes he'd put the TV on the twenty-four hour news network and pretend they were still there with him, that the sheets weren't cold and that he wasn't the only body in the California King.

Sometimes, it wasn't enough and nothing could ease him.

Shoving the sheet back, he got off the couch-bed, taking the one step necessary to get to his window. He yanked the blinds up and flipped the latch before attempting to slide the glass up. It took a couple pounds from his fist on the frame and a good shove, but it finally did as he requested, sticking on the way up, the glass rattling.

He climbed out onto the fire escape, hoping fresh air would calm his nerves. Well, as fresh as it got in NYC at least. Gripping the metal railing, he stared down at the street below, the orange lamps lighting the sidewalk and road. It was early, that much he could tell, no cars driving by. A couple drunk girls held onto each other as they giggled and stumbled their way along, their voices drifting up to him. They clearly didn't have a care in the world—at least not until their hangovers kicked in the next day. None of them had to worry about keeping their powers hidden, about not blowing their secret identities, about missions that could possibly give them their dream job. They just had to worry about whether they remembered their purse, if their heels were gonna get caught in a manhole or storm drain, if they were gonna find a toilet to puke in or just empty their stomach on the streets.

He envied them.

A snort left him as he rested his elbows on the railing, hand working the back of his neck. Funny. Most people would want the superpowers, the rapid healing and the hidden strength, the web shooters and the sticky palms. And there he was, willing to give it all up just to be... _normal_.

Although normal was a relative term really, one that varied from person to person. And who knew, even without the powers, he could still have the residual effects of more or less having been abused, the nightmares and the PTSD.

His eyes drifted down to where he'd subconsciously been rubbing the pockmark inside his wrist. He'd probably feel better if he talked to someone about it all, but who the hell would be able to relate? It's not like he was constantly surrounded by people who'd been tormented like he had been. Except maybe Ward. But the one time Kendall had tried to speak to him about it, the guy had clammed up more than usual, tightening his grip on his gun before firing off ten straight bullets into the target's head. He'd ended the convo by muttering about being out of ammo and leaving the room, an act that seemed even stranger when Kendall's eyes came across three full boxes of .44 by the extra targets they'd grabbed.

The blond figured it was a sign he wasn't meant to talk about it, that SHIELD knew what had gone down and that was enough. His father—if that's who he really was—was dead, unable to hurt him anymore, and Kendall had control over his powers and knowledge of what exactly he was capable of. There was no need to spend any time worrying about anything that had happened to him in the past. It was over and done with and nothing could or would change that.

Still. Wouldn't hurt to have someone he could talk to about this sorta shit.

A pair of fiery eyes appeared in his mind, but he quickly shoved the thought away. The guy had yet to even say "hi" to Kendall. Chances were he wasn't in the mood for a heart-to-heart about the problems with powers and the negativity they brought into one's life, especially not when he'd seemed so stoked to have gotten them.

A heavy sigh left Kendall as he straightened up, eyes scanning the street below before raising up and taking in the building across from him. A city of over eight million people and he was all alone. Nice.

Then again, his parents did solo missions all the time. And his was a lot easier, just some recon work, observe and report, as it'd been drilled into his head. He could handle this, could do as he was told and do a damn good job of it. Besides, maybe being Kendall Knight would allow him to escape the bullshit of his own real life. He could pretend he'd had a normal existence growing up, pretend he was just some average human with average parents and an average life, to the point where it felt like it was real and he could believe it himself. Fake it 'til you make it or some shit like that.

With a final scan of the world outside, he climbed back into his apartment, the window rattling again as he pushed it down and locked it. Dwelling on his past wasn't gonna help him in his present. It was better to just leave it be and move on.

Or at least get a good night's sleep. His future was waiting on the other side of the night and it was looking far better than it had been in days before. If he could focus on making that happen, then what happened to him in his childhood would no longer matter.

At least he could hope that would be the case.


End file.
